


Nothing Really Matters To Me

by Sam_Haine



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Crying, Heavy Angst, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Men Crying, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Steve Rogers Feels, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 11:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Haine/pseuds/Sam_Haine
Summary: Bucky's got his memories and his life back. Steve should be happy. Why isn't he?





	Nothing Really Matters To Me

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a mood so I wrote this. Was listening to ADTR If it means a lot to you as well so...

Nothing Really Matters To Me 

 

He's been through a great deal, and that was putting it lightly. 

For a very, very long time, it had been so dark and dismal, not even the bright red laser on his sniper rifle could brighten up his dog days. Countless days, countless nights, countless faces and countless bodies. At best, he could remember just a little of what his past life had to offer. 

_Very little._

A wisp of strawberry blonde hair, the smell of fresh popcorn under hot, melted butter... cotton candy. Or the pungent smell of gun-smoke, black grease and a very dirty trash bin. As unpleasant as those memories sounded, they were _his._

And they were beautiful. 

He remembers thinking once- a long time ago- that if there _was_ a God, he'd be able to go back to that life. To go back to a time that was not simpler, but... _his._ He hated the days when his heart would yearn for that so bad that a pain would erupt in his chest and cause the tears to start falling like blood from his eyes. It gave him headaches most days, being so lonely and forgotten. He wasn't sure about anything but the missions he was given. 

And there was _always_ a mission. 

It didn't matter that he was bone-weary and exhausted from dreaming in his mind. And it certainly didn't matter that his resistance was fluctuating on most days. There was always a mission, waiting patiently for him to pay it mind. He appreciated them though... they were the only things that stayed with him and never left. His missions were as loyal as the titanium plates in his prosthetic arm. Clear, firm and steady. 

Back then, he didn't have a name or a personality attached to his being. 

No. 

He'd been _Serial Number 36112: The Winter Super-soldier._

A mindless and silent killing machine, with empty eyes and no face. With nothing but his weapons and his missions to keep him company on the coldest of nights. The Winter Soldier was a quiet being, quite saddened by its monotonous existence but completely unable to change that fact. So at night, it didn't complain- not even once- when it cuddled around its gun, the barrel still warm from the bullets which were fired at some point before then. It _loved_ its cosy mask, blocking it's useless lips from the cold. It was grateful for its bionic arm that never grew cold like the rest of its body. 

The Winter Soldier was nothing but a monster that _yearned_ to be a man. 

 

***

 _A short, choked-up gasp..._

There's ice all around him- overhead, under his feet, suspended in the air all around him. The entire landscape is covered in a thick blanket of white. The air is charged with tension but still manages to send a chill through his body. It's frigid and his body feels drained of all its life... all its blood. He feels like... he's been here before. 

There's smoke billowing out just a few meters ahead of him. He's moving without actually moving. 

And he's moving _fast._

In the blink of an eye, he's in a fast-moving container... 

_A train._

"Oh God-" 

_"Steve!"_

_"Bucky-! No!"_

There's that ominous cliffside again. He's hanging off the train with nothing holding him up but a mere pipe of metal- ...the same one that couldn't hold B- 

"No!" 

It's quiet. And dark. It's his room, he realizes slowly, trying to shake off the cold-sweat and cobwebs from his head. The moon sheds a frosty glitter from its perch just outside his window, bathing his modest little room in silver. On his nose is the scent of an oncoming rain, the smell of earth and recycled water doing nothing to calm his electrocuted nerves. He leaves the bed just as the pattering of oblivious raindrops assault the roof above his head. 

His hands shouldn't be shaking as much as they are as he slips on a grey t-shirt and black shorts. Nor his legs as he tries to take another step closer to his kitchen. But he perseveres, in true Steve Rogers fashion and makes it to the kitchen. The glass clinks a bit too much in his weak grasp but he ignores it. The glass of water goes down his throat, icy and crisp. He forgoes any kind of sedative or sleeping pill. They won't work on him anyway. He doesn't even know why he has them. 

_"Steve! No!"_

His eyes slam shut before he forces them open again. 

Bucky's terrified voice fills his head and he can't drown it out. This isn't the first time this has happened but everytime it does... it just gets harder and harder for him to accept the fact that Bucky fell from the train, and became HYDRA's guinea pig... _because of him._ Because he was protecting _him._

Because that's all Bucky did... 

Protect little useless Steve Rogers til the day he fucking died. 

Steve can feel the bitterness creep in now, clenching his heart in a black, deceitful anger. He hates himself, plain and simple. He _hates_ the fact that he walked away from that fucking mission intact and alive while Bucky didn't. He hates himself for becoming Captain America. He hates his new life, his new clothes, his new world. 

But most of all, he hates little Steven Grant Rogers. 

He resented the sickness that had plagued him since birth. Detested the way he had to rely on the charity of others so that he could function properly on a daily basis. He hated himself for bringing Bucky with him on that last mission... for bringing Bucky down with him. The tall, brunette could have done so much more without little Steve dragging him into the depths of poverty, sickness and despair. But instead he chose to follow the dumb blonde... 

And got ruined because of his blind loyalty. 

How could he _not_ see that Steve was going to be his ultimate undoing? 

"Fucking useless." Steve seethes when he recognizes his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He hadn't even noticed walking back from the kitchen, a glass of Thor's Asgardian mead clutched in his hand. It was filled with way too much liquid than was really required for a scotch glass. 

But who cares? 

Because even though Bucky was finally back, all squeaky clean and healed from Shuri's therapy, Steve couldn't help but dwell on the fact that he'd allowed Bucky to be hurt in the first place. Hell, he hadn't forgiven himself for over seventy years, what was gonna stop him now? 

His perfect reflection looks back at him, skin pale under the fluorescent white light of the bathroom. His cheeks burn with a blush only reminiscent of a heavy drink and his cheeks are perfectly hollowed, like a pretty porcelain doll. His lips, though a candy pink, barely smile at all. His eyes could make a pretty portrait if they smiled too but no- ...his baby blues were as dead as the people Steve and Bucky had both left behind in World War II. 

A particularly harsh flashback to the train has him staggering on his feet for a second before he glares up at the mirror again with eyes of blue fire. 

_"Son of a bitch!"_

He isn't sure what's louder; his scream or the sound the mirror makes when it shatters into a million pieces under his heavy hand. Sparkling amber liquid sprays like mist amidst the sparkling glass shards, making a pretty picture of the beautiful disaster that had become Steve Rogers. The next thing he knows is he's curled up against the bathtub on the floor, clutching his bloody right hand and sobbing hard into his wrist. 

He shouldn't be- 

"Steve- _Jesus darlin_ ' what the fuck."

The voice immediately has him on high alert, icy blue eyes shining up at Bucky who suddenly appears out of nowhere, in black jeans and a cornflower blue t-shirt. A flash of fear crosses Steve's face before he frowns hard, wiping hastily at his face. 

"Wh- what're you doing here?" He weakly demands, his voice small. Pained. 

"Been watchin' you all day doll." Bucky responds honestly, albeit a little nervously. Steve takes in his vibraniu m for all of zero point five seconds before another sob claws it's way up his throat and he has to look away. 

"Why?" 

"Because, you've been avoiding me ever since I got back from Wakanda." Bucky reveals sadly, his blue-grey eyes never leaving Steve's face. He knows the blonde's in an extremely fragile state right now. 

Steve immediately goes to shake his head. "No I-"

"Yeah, you have. Lemme see that." Bucky murmurs gently, taking Steve's injured hand by the wrist, assessing the damages. The cuts aren't deep, thank God, but there is some swelling and a lot of blood oozing out of the sliced skin. Steve barely reacts when he slides a small splinter out of his middle finger's knuckle. 

"I'm fine." The blonde reassures in possibly the most non-reassuring way ever. "Why are you stalking me?" 

Bucky chooses not to flinch at the accusatory tone and remembers all of his lessons with Shuri. Steve is not afraid of me. 

Steve is _not_ afraid of me. 

"I just- ...I needed to see you. Couldn't go another week without seeing my best guy." He grins but Steve doesn't even look at him. 

He's dead inside it seems. 

And that fucking breaks Bucky's heart. 

"How did you even ge-"

"The windows were wide open. Gotta be careful next time pal." Bucky tries again, but his light tone does nothing to erase the haunted look in Steve's eyes. He's gotten some wet wipes out of the bathroom cabinet and is gently wiping away the blood from Steve's knuckles. The image of fresh blood doesn't faze him anymore. But the fact that it's Steve's blood has him on edge. He hates seeing the one person he loves most in this world so hurt and broken. 

"Here, let me." He says as gently as possible, de-splintering and bandaging-up Steve's precious little fingers. All the while Steve sits there on the floor dejectedly, tears spilling down his face, his throat constricted. Bucky makes quick work of the shattered glass on the floor, giving Steve a little space to breathe before getting back to him. He's kneeling next to the blonde, hands on his own lap as Steve sits there, hiding his face in his hands. 

"What's the matter hm Steve? What's gotten you like this?" Bucky implores, wiping a thumb just under his eye where the tears congregate. Steve grasps his hand tightly for a moment, sobbing outright now as he feels Bucky's gentle touch on his face for the first time in _years._

He breaks away from the brunette after a particularly tortured wail and starts to struggle to his feet. 

"I'm fine- Buck. I- I promise." 

Bucky suppresses a growl from making it out his throat before he grabs a firm hold of Steve, bodily dragging him to lie down across his lap, uppermost supported by Bucky's chest. He can feel Steve squirm and turn his face to hide in his neck and he doesn't dare complain. Something was going on with his boy and he needed to fix it. 

"Breathe baby, c'mon. You gotta breathe for me." He berates gently, petting Steve's soft, downy hair. He feels the hot tears spilling on his shoulder, forming a cold patch of wetness on the material of his shirt but he doesn't give a fuck. Steve needs him. 

"You- you gotta tell me what's wrong darlin." He finds himself saying, his own tears springing into his eyes as he listens to Steve's devastated sobs. The blonde just grips him tighter, making his body smaller as he curls into Bucky like a sleepy kitten. 

"Breathe. _Please._ Please breathe for me sweetheart." He begs repeatedly, rubbing Steve's back gently. 

"Gotta tell me what's wrong baby. I can't- I can't make it right if you don't tell me..." 

"I can't-" Steve starts but ends up choking on a sob. He clings hard to the ex-assassin then, his cries uncontrollable now. 

"Please baby... please let me in." Bucky pleads, kissing the top of Steve's head. 

"I've got you, I promise. I'm not leaving here until I know you're okay." 

Steve says something but it comes out soft and muffled from where his face is hidden in Bucky's chest. 

"I need to hear you sweetheart." Bucky tells the blonde, stroking his hair as he blinks up at him with glistening blue eyes and quivering lips. 

Then he says the words Bucky never in his life, ever wanted to hear from Steve's lips, " _...I'm sorry."_

The curveball throws him for a hot minute and he's left staring into Steve's tearful baby blues, totally confused. He quickly grabs Steve, holding his face in his hands, holding the blonde's gaze with his. 

"Steve- what the _hell_ are you sorry for?" He demands, a tear finally spilling from his own eyes. 

Steve's pretty eyes widens at him, probably horrified that he'd made Bucky upset. Or worse. That he'd pushed the man away for good. He starts backing away.

"I- I-"

"Steve-"

"No, let me-"

"Stevie c'mon wh-"

_"I let you fall!"_

The bathroom is suddenly engulfed in silence. 

_Deafening and thick._

Gray-blue eyes stare hard and unrelenting into baby blues that refuse to look up from the ground. For a second Bucky looks at Steve and it's almost like he can see decades up in decades of misery, anger and self-hatred reduced to one body. And for some reason, the body belongs to Steve before he took the serum, tiny, frail and broken. Steve had always had a fire in him that was unmatched for someone his size. But in his darkest of days, had let Bucky hold him through the agony. Had let his weak side show every now and then and Bucky knew then that he would protect this beautiful soul for the rest of his life. 

Too bad Steve didn't see _anything_ past his own mind. 

"You didn't let me fall, Steve." He says carefully, his voice even. He can see how his words anger the blonde. 

"Yes I did!" Steve insists angrily through his tears. "I picked a fight I couldn't win and I ended up losing _everything!_ Including you." 

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat, flexing and unflexing his vibranium arm. 

"No."

"Yes! You were the one that told me not to do anything stupid and I went ahead with the experiment anyway! I didn't listen!"

"No!" Bucky growls, but Steve doesn't care. He can't hear Bucky's words anyway; only his own self-destructive thoughts. 

"I got you back but that wasn't enough. I went back and I- ... _God I took you with me_... d- dropped you into HYDRA's hands and walked away." 

"No Steve. No-" Bucky begs, a little softer this time. 

"It- it's like war is my shield. It always comes back to me. A- and I let it. Ultron was right about me. Zemo- ...he was right, _Tony-_ ...Tony always knew..." 

"No Steve- that's not true-" 

Every word feels like a sharp knife slicing into his heart as he watches the only thing he'd ever loved, fall to _pieces._

"Open your goddamn eyes Buck. I got you killed. Everyone paid the price while I- ...so stupid. _You_ were right. Always told me... to stay away from the fights. You didn't deserve what HYDR- ...what _I_ did to you."

Steve closes his eyes resolutely, digging his nails into his wrist as if it hurt to even exist. 

_"Should've left me in the water when you had the chance."_

Bucky's brain suddenly flashes through his memories, bringing up that mission on the helicarrier. The one where he'd had a breakthrough past HYDRA's indoctrination. All because Steve had refused to fight him, took of his mask and then told him, til the end of the line. There was no doubt Bucky recalls, diving into the Potomac to save Steve. 

Like fucking hell he would ever- 

"You listen to me Steven _fucking_ Rogers," He snarls, surging forward to grip Steve's face in his hands, pressing him up against the cabinet. 

"None of that shit was your fault. I chose to go with you. _HYDRA_ took everything from us. So did the rest of those twisted bastards. They're cowards. They don't know _jack_ about you." 

"I should've jumped in right after you. Sh- should've saved you." Steve whispers, lost deep within his very own lethal headspace, eyes wide but vacant. 

"No. They would've killed you the moment they got you. None of this is your fault baby. None of it. I'm right here. Not going anywhere." Bucky murmurs softly into Steve's hair, rocking him back and forth gently, watching as his tears soak into blonde hair. 

* 

Steve's out of commission for the rest of the night, pale and exhausted from the emotional turmoil he put his body through and a bit fuzzy from the mead. 

Bucky gladly picks him up from the floor and sets him gently on the bed, offering a sad smile as Steve tiredly starts shoving off his clothes. He still likes to sleep naked, Bucky realizes, pulling the covers up and over the blonde. He's still sniffling, little whimpers coming from his throat as he lies there, heartbroken and utterly devastated. His eyes are red and swollen, trails of tears wet and shiny on his pretty face. 

"Don't leave me... please." Steve begs in a small voice, just as Bucky takes a step back. 

"Never. Never leavin you baby boy." Bucky promises, slipping under the covers to spoon Steve from the back. His naked body is warm and smooth, like caramel, pressing against his front as if they were melting together, becoming one person. Steve turns around to face him, blue eyes downcast, his entire demeanour timid. He's biting at his cherry red lips, a sign of him overthinking. 

Bucky cocks his head to the side in question. "What is it love?" 

Steve opens his mouth but then pauses, shaking his head. But Bucky isn't having any of that. He presses a kiss to Steve's forehead and feels his heart soar when Steve smiles a little thing, wispy but still there. The soft blush on his cheeks is enough to go by. 

"C- ...c'n you hold me. Please?" 

Bucky almost screams out in pure relief but settles for planting another kiss on Steve's forehead. 

"Of course love." 

They call into each other then, like pieces of a puzzle, fractured and distorted but still relative to the other. Steve rests his head on Bucky's chest, right over his heart. Hearing- no, _feeling_ it beat at the same time as his. It's the rhythm of Steve's favorite lullaby, together with Bucky's human arm wrapped tightly around his naked form, that reminds them of how things used to be. 

A very long time ago. 

"I love you sweetheart. Remember when I told you?" He murmurs into Steve's hair, chuckling at the soft "hmm" he gets in response. 

"You freaked out, told me I was messin' with you. Then when you realised that I wasn't jokin', you told me to say it again. And again. And again and again." 

Steve snuffles deeper into him now, cold nose pressing into his neck. He _loves_ how it feels, the sound of Steve's little hiccuping giggles making his chest tighten. 

"I love you Steven Grant Rogers. Loved you then, and I love you now. I'll love you always." He muses, mostly to himself even though Steve's right there on his chest. He brings Steve's injured hand up to his lips and kisses it, careful not to jostle the bandages. He's perfectly contented as Steve simply lies there and absorbs all the love and attention he has to give. He needs to hear it because he's been told different for far too long. 

"Never apologise. Never. I've got you baby." He murmurs when a small sob escapes Steve's lips. 

"I love you too Buck." The blonde cries softly, draping a leg over Bucky's waist. His hand immediately goes to it and he revels in the candle wax softness of Steve's naked thigh. 

"Shh, shh baby. Go to sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise." 

It's the first time in _years_ that both soldiers drift off to sleep without much fight.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Steve angst and we never really get to see the sensitive side of him so, here ya go. Hope y'all enjoyed.


End file.
